


Flames of Winter

by PrinceRoan



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Half-Sibling Incest, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-24
Updated: 2013-01-25
Packaged: 2017-11-26 16:44:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/652339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrinceRoan/pseuds/PrinceRoan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Lord Commander gives Jon leave to take a message to Robb. This will be the first time the brothers are to be reunited since Jon left for the Wall and the war began.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Southward

A new layer of ice was forming along the Wall. It was so translucent that if not for the slight grooves that gave way to the older layer no one would have noticed it. In fact, nobody had noticed it as it smoothed over the snow blasted ice from before. A singular figure clad in black, standing in stark contrast from the mountainous fortress of white around him ran his naked finger along the ridge of the Wall's highest point. There was only a slight difference between this new ice and the old, a nearly feigned purer sheen. A fire burning to his right, enraged by the North winds, shot out and nearly grasped his arm within its fiery reach. The dark figure glided away, retreating further into the darkness and icy wind. The exposed skin of his hand began to numb and a black glove was quickly pulled on before disappearing into his cloak. He carefully observed the erratic flames beckoning to him and moved around to a spot which afforded warmth while avoiding the worst of the winds. The night was completely black, an abyss from which voices howled and wailed and pellets of ice whipped around.

Jon Snow was very much used to nights like this; indeed, he had become accustomed to them. The darkness never bothered him anymore. _Much_. The few times he had been lucky enough to stand watch by the moon's side he committed to memory. Ghost was always unsettled by the moon, pricking his ears up and standing rigid, eyes like fire turned southward.

This night, he lay demurely at Jon's feet. His master shifted as close to the fire as he dared, scanning the dark sea before him with minimal interest. With ample amount of misgiving, he thought about the impending return of Sir Alliser, due to arrive at Castle Black within the next two nights. Perhaps the man's return would signal worse for Sam, whom he loved to harass. Jon patted Ghost on the head, rubbing his ear affectionately. He sighed. Where was Sam, anyway?

Ghost, as though reacting to Jon's train of thought, raised his head, sniffing the air for a moment before settling back into a relaxed position. A moment later, a large figure emerged from the dark and shuffled nearer to John, extracting his arms from his cloak.

"Sam?"

"The Commander is asking for you," Sam answered, squatting down and leaning towards the flames. "It's bloody cold!"

Jon smiled at his friend. "Take my place by the fire," he said, and stood.

Ghost was up and at Jon's side in an instant, trotting beside him. They left Sam cozying up to the flames and descended down from their watch. The wind seemed to die down as they descended but the air remained frosty, forcing Jon to pull his cloak tighter around his body. He swept through the darkness of Castle Black and knocked at the Commander's door. Ghost sat down at Jon's feet.

"Come," a gruff voice called from within the room.

Jon hesitated, only then wondering about the reason behind his being summoned. He entered stiffly, locking his hands together behind his back and inclining his head formally.

Jeor Mormont, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, waved Jon over with a jerking movement and cleared his throat. "Cold night," he commented absently, sorting through a few papers on his desk.

Jon stood silent. He heard the drag of Ghost's claws against the ground as he paced outside the door.

The commander's eyes rose, meeting Jon's. "Men who join the Black Order make many sacrifices," he started quietly, observing Jon closely. "A vow of chastity is to most a high price to pay, yet there is higher price for some," he paused and stood, walking over to the fireplace. The warm glow softened his stern features. "A man only ever really has one family."

Jon's blood ran cold and then he flushed, eyes dropping to the floor instantly.

"We cut off all our bonds, Jon Snow," Jeor continued as he walked over to his steward, "but we never truly forget them."

Jon raised his head, eyes searching his commander's face nervously. His pulse quickened so suddenly that his heart thumped erratically, as if it had been surprised by the sudden rush. "Sir?"

Commander Mormont reached into his inner pocket and extracted a small envelope that he carefully placed into Jon's hands. "See to it that this letter finds Stark; it is for his eyes alone."

"Sir?" Jon repeated roughly, his voice low and uneven. His fingers tightened on the object in hand, crumpling the crisp envelope.

"I want his response immediately." The Lord Commander seated himself at his desk to resume his work. He looked up at Jon, still standing before him clutching the letter and shades of doubt flashed across his face. It had only been a few months since Jon had come to the Wall. Since then, his father had been branded traitor and killed, his brother had risen up against the King with the entire North at his back and both his sisters were captive at King's Landing. But Jon had come back that night; he had made the choice. Mormont's features relaxed and he leaned back. "I'll expect you within the next two weeks."

Jon's head snapped up as if he had been shocked out of a trance. He gave one curt nod and left the room, sweeping past Ghost and heading straight for the stables. It was well past midnight and besides the few men on watch, Castle Black was left seemingly deserted; its sleeping inhabitants tucked away in their chambers, huddling close together for warmth. The wind coursed aimlessly through its outer halls and shook rickety doors. Jon had experienced cold weather since before reaching the Wall, he was a Northerner after all, but there seemed to him something sinister about this night; it felt like the blackness was alive, a living creature surrounding the Wall, watching and waiting. He slowed to a stop by the stable doors and looked out into the darkness. Sighing, he reduced his odd thoughts to mere fancies concocted in his head because of the shrieking wind. Night watches were uneventful and the mind often strayed, mistaking a creak of wood for the silent footsteps of a white walker. Jon's mind was particularly reveling in taunting him that moment and he busied himself with retrieving a sturdy horse for the journey. Having expected the stable boy to be asleep he was surprised to find him awake and at work, sweeping the floor.

"Goodnight, sir."

Jon nodded and walked over to the youth, who had paused in his sweeping to acknowledge him. "I need a strong horse," he said, reaching a gloved hand out to pat the pale muzzle of a young chestnut brown mare.

"Going somewhere, sir?" the boy asked, ambling down the line of stalls, eyeing the animals critically.

Jon quietly assented, following behind him slowly.

"Ah!" The boy clicked his tongue and peered into the second to last stable. "He's not the fastest one we've got but he's real strong. He'll get you through this wind if you leave tonight, no problem."

Jon walked over and came face to face with a massive black head, nostrils flaring at his approach. He stared into the large black eye of the animal and held out his hand. The animal's lips shuddered and it stepped back. "I don't think it likes me."

The boy leaned up and over the stall door, forcing the horse forward before whispering in its ear. He moved to take Jon's hand but hesitated, thinking better of the action, and politely motioned to Jon to outstretch his hand again.

This time the horse remained still and allowed Jon to touch its muzzle. He cautiously moved his hand up and then down to the horse's neck, patting it firmly.

"See? Shadow likes you fine," the boy said, smiling up at Jon.

"Shadow?" Jon echoed, opening the stall door. "Not very original is it?" He winked at the affronted stable boy.

"It's not really his name," the youth explained. "Only a fancy of mine, 'cause though he's so big, he's dead quiet in the forest. Can barely tell what it is unless you're right up close."

Jon nodded absently, doubtful of the boys description of the quivering beast. He could feel the muscles of the animal grow tense as he moved closer. Perhaps it was as eager to leave as he was. He led the horse out slowly and kept him calm while the stable boy readied him for the journey.

"Going for long, sir?"

Jon took the reins from the boy's thin fingers and adjusted the noseband around Shadow's muzzle. "Two weeks."

"South?"

Jon led the horse out of the stables and tested the strength of the stirrups before pulling himself up and into the leather saddle. He could tell by the groove of the saddle that the boy had picked one of good quality. One of the few that Castle Black had. He looked down at him. "Yes, I'm going South."

"Goodnight, Sir."

Jon lifted the reins and paused. "What did you say to him?" he asked, eyes moving over the patient horse. "When you whispered in his ear."

"Told him you didn't like Alliser neither," the boy giggled, turning on his heel and rushing back for the warmth of the stables.

Jon sat back and smiled, wind nipping at his exposed cheeks hungrily. He twisted the reins in his fingers and nudged his stirrups against the horse's flank, urging it forward at a slow pace. Ghost padded along behind him, keeping clear of Shadow's hooves. When Jon reached the gates he stopped and looked over his shoulder, eyes roaming up the Wall. _Sam_. He bit his lip and considered making the trek back up to say goodbye. He'd most definitely have words when he returned. Apologizing to the wind, he turned from Castle Black. It would take him a few days to reach Winterfell. The thought of seeing Bran and Rickon warmed him and he smiled into the dense fur of his collar. Further South he'd find Robb. Warden of the North now, Jon thought, bitter at the circumstances of Robb's newly appointed position. He briefly wondered if the image he held of his half-brother would still hold true or if he had changed. _Robb_. The name echoed in his head and left a strange metallic taste in his mouth. He could feel Castle Black looming behind him, the groan of its structure fighting against the wind filled his ears. Shadow took off the moment he flicked the reins, the release of energy it had been craving propelling him forward and into the clutches of the awaiting night.


	2. Winterfell

Shadow's steps were noiseless against the thick snow. Only the crisp crunch of his hooves breaking the uppermost layer of ice over the snow sounded into the night and even that was rendered near silent by the wind. As if resisting Jon's undertaking, the wind had redoubled its strength at his departure and gale like forces blasted against his face. The bare trees around him shivered and seemed to bend over, thin branches writhing and lurking above his head. The forest animals were tucked away in their snowy burrows, waiting out the worst of the storm in the safety of their homes. The birds too had hidden away in their nests and found safe nooks inside the trees or down below by the shrubs to avoid getting knocked out of the branches. Everything living had taken cover from the night. Jon nudged Shadow and leaned forward, hiding his face behind the animal's head to escape the worst of the gusts. He patted Shadow's side with his gloved hand and let the horse lead, the general direction being South. To Robb. He knew that somewhere in the darkness Ghost was following close, darting through the darkness like a specter, his pale form nearly a trick of the eyes. Jon thought that at least three hours have had to have passed but until the sun began its ascent he couldn't be sure. For a while he remained in a hunched over position, face buried against Shadow's neck, the horse's coarse hair brushing Jon's cheek. He twisted the reins twice into his fingers and dug his boots into the stirrups. Jon hoped that this wasn't the beginning of a week's long snow storm, his progress would be considerably slowed. He closed his eyes and prayed to the Old God's to let the storm pass and let him wake to unobstructed sunlight.

Jon's sleep was fitful, full of fragmented, nightmarish dreams. Since taking the black he'd encountered night after night of dreamless slumber, the rare dream like an illusion he could barely grasp having seen upon waking up. But during this night, his eyes moved behind his lids and in the darkness of his mind he saw Winterfell, a sense of home washing over him, but its halls were empty, nothing but cold lifeless rooms. He walked around the perimeter and heard a thud. By the outside wall of an unused section of the stronghold a slim figure was scaling the wall. Small and agile with warm chestnut brown hair the figure climbed higher as Jon approached and he smiled. _Bran!_ He called out but the youth had disappeared from sight and a sharp thud next to him brought his eyes down to where Bran was lying on the ground. Jon reached out, his throat caught, but when his fingers reached Bran's sleeve they met with the cold ground and he knelt helplessly. _Jon, catch!_ His eyes snapped up to behold his younger brother's body flying through the air down to him and he resolutely stood. Bran slipped right past his outstretched arms and the sickening thud of his body hitting the ground made Jon cry out. An acrid stench of smoke thickened around him and his lungs filled with it as his eyes filled with the sight of Winterfell on fire. He was standing in the courtyard and could feel the heat of the flames on his skin. Jon was alone and Winterfell was burning.

Jon opened his eyes. Ghost was watching him, eyes ablaze, his warm breath leaving his mouth in a swirl of misty smoke. Winterfell burning. Jon shivered and slowly sat up, stretching his muscles out of stiffness. He looked around him and pried his fingers off the reins. The sun was breaking over the horizon in the east, pinks and oranges coloring the pale sky with their pastel tints. Jon said his thanks to the God's and slid off of Shadow with a groan. The animal stirred and a large eye inspected Jon and then closed. North of the Wall, Jon would have scouted the area quickly for tracks or any disturbances to ensure that no Wildlings were about but in the South he felt less cautious. Perhaps he was yet fully woken. Jon strayed into the forest to relieve himself and quickened to do so for the air was especially icy in the morning before the sun rose. Half a day's ride would bring him to a creek where they could all drink fresh water and then from there a full day ride to Winterfell, providing Shadow could keep up a decent pace. He allowed himself two days at most to reach Winterfell. He'd only taken a small pouch of dried and salted meat, inedible as it was, and an equally small flask of wine. The stable boy had strung a water pouch on the horse's saddle for him, which Jon would timely finish before they reached the creek.

He walked back over to his horse and rubbed its muzzle. Shadow snorted and nudged Jon's hand. "Another few hours and we'll rest," he promised, and came around to haul himself up into the saddle. Ghost, who had been lying on the snow, stood and circled the horse. Jon took the reins loosely, comfortable that Shadow needed little control and clicked his tongue. Above them the sky was a hazy blue with a faint hint of pink still visible on the horizon. The air was clear and felt refreshing in Jon's lungs. He let Shadow set a slow pace, unwilling to disturb the silent calm of the morning just yet. Birds began calling to one another overhead and their chirping fell into a soft harmony with the muted steps of his horse. He only motioned the animal to speed up after he had disdainfully chewed through three pieces of dried meat from his pouch. He watched the dark trees of the forest blur past around him and marveled at the ease with which Shadow maneuvered his bulk through the denser areas. His eyes were trained forward but he was conscious of the activity around him; birds flitting in the branches above, a hare scurrying in the snow banks, Ghost running along his right side.

Snowflakes were falling, reflecting the light of sun and glittering like crystals. They clung to Jon's black hair and wet his eyelashes and cheek. It reminded him of the snow melting in Robb's auburn hair when he had left for the Wall. The thought brought a slight flush to his cold face and he smiled and imagined touching the crystals in Robb's hair and feeling the chill and softness then seeing him smile back. It had been a while since Jon had allowed himself to think about the Stark family. When he had ridden out of Castle Black that one frosty night, the impulse to join Robb on the battlefield and avenge the late Lord Stark overrode all else, he had forgotten that his name was Snow and that he was a sworn brother of the Night's Watch. His vows slipped into unimportance, a strong feeling of familial duty coursing through him like wildfire. It took Sam, Pip, and Grenn to remind him of his true duty and when they surrounded him and filled his ears with the oath that had been spoken by his own lips, his impulse died down to an ember burning in the pit of his stomach. He buried Robb and his boyhood in Winterfell in the darkest recess of his mind. He had taken an oath.

When the sun had moved directly overhead, Jon stopped Shadow before a dark water creek. The rangers had built a bridge over the water further west so that large wagons could safely pass, but the water was shallow and calm enough for Shadow to comfortably cross. The water churned softly, gurgling at the edges of the bank. They crossed safely and Jon flicked the reins, urging Shadow up a snow bank. He roughly mapped out his route in his head and thought that if he rode fast enough he could reach Winterfell before dawn. Jon chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully. Travelling in the pitch black of night, even south of the Wall, provided its own dangers. However, the thought that his direction was Southward, that he was bridging the gap between himself and his brother thrilled him. The quicker he reached Winterfell, the quicker he would reach Robb's camp. A multitude of thoughts sprung upon him then and he felt the responsibility placed upon him by the Commander weigh on his chest almost accusingly. The Commander had entrusted him with this journey despite knowing Jon hadn't entirely cut the threads that bound him to the Starks. Jon straightened up on his horse and lightly flicked the reins, his lips set into a firm line. First and foremost, he was on a mission to deliver a letter to the Warden of the North; seeing Robb came second to that. Jon tried hard to separate his past life from the one he was currently leading. He clicked his tongue and tapped Shadow's flank with his heel, sending the horse into a quickened gallop. The muted battering of hooves against the ground mixed with his own voice, quietly reciting his oath into the frosty air.

Jon watched the sky turn from a pale blue to a deep purple, then slowly to a nightly shade of blue, and finally to the black night he looked out upon from the Wall. The day had been a long and cold one. He watched the sky light up with sparkling lights and briefly wondered if these were not the same crystals of snow that fell from the sky on a windless night. When he reached Winterfell even the stars had hidden away, the darkest phase of the night had settled in, right before the dawn. Everything was still and the looming facade of his former home rose up menacingly. He felt like a fugitive, riding in through the gates in complete silence, announcing his name to the sleepy sentry with the expectation of being stopped and called a deserter. The man by all standards of respect should have bowed before the returning Lord whether or not Jon was a full blooded Stark or not, but he merely nodded. Jon forgave him the slight and let out a sigh of relief. Winterfell smelled like hay from the bales in the stable, iron and steel from the blacksmiths, dye and leather from the tannery and mud from the trampled upon ground in the courtyard. Jon breathed in the mix of scents and rode in with a small smile on his face. Leaving Shadow to the hands at the stable he made his way with Ghost to Bran's quarters.

While crossing the courtyard he slowed to a stop and looked around him. His skin tingled, the memory of his dream leaving the taste of ash on his tongue. Ghost stayed close by his side, but as they neared Barn's room he bounded forward, ears folding back and tail bristling. Jon called his name sharply when a low growl sounded from inside the room. A shadow disrupted the warm glow from the lantern inside the room that was flooding through the underside of the door. Jon walked up to Ghost and watched him sniff the door vigorously, the hairs on his back standing up. "Remember your brother, Ghost?" He opened the door and stepped aside to let the two direwolves come face to face. They bared their teeth at each other, Ghost the first to settle into a position of attack, but neither of them made to do so. Summer, visibly smaller than Ghost, stepped forward to sniff at the intruder. It was as if in the expression, something clicked for them both and Ghost's lips closed over his fangs and he met Summer's muzzle with his wet nose. Jon smiled. "As I remember mine," he whispered and let his eyes lift from the direwolves to the bed. He could just barely discern the smooth locks of Bran's chestnut brown hair beneath a mountainous covering of furs. Summer eyed him suspiciously but remained at Ghost's side. Jon stepped over to the bed and placed a hand over the soft fur covering Bran's lower body, knowing that the pressure would never disturb the sleeping child. He knelt down and closed his eyes.

"...protect him from the cold winter to come," Jon murmured, voicing the last of his prayer into the silent room. He stood and moved his hand to Bran's head gently, so as not to wake him. The last time he had spoken with him, the boy had been lying in a sound sleep from which he was doubted to wake, but he  _had_ woken; woken to news of his father's death and Robb's departure and the duties of the Lord of Winterfell falling upon his little shoulders. Jon sighed and moved his fingers down to Bran's cheek, cold from the exposure to the room. The hearth behind him had not been tended to for some hours and had died down to a feeble glow, so he rekindled the fire. Summer curled up at the foot of Bran's bed and Ghost sat next to him, watching Jon. Bran shifted to turn his face to the warm flames. John sat down in a chair and placed Longclaw in his lap before hunkering down into a semi-comfortable position. He thought he might get two or three hours of sleep. He closed his eyes but did not doze off. Jon wondered how long it would take him to get to Robb's camp. Three days perhaps and even then that would bring him close to ending his first week.

Ghost walked over and plopped down by Jon's feet. "Do you remember it, Ghost?" Jon dropped his hand onto Ghost's head and rubbed the thick fur of his neck. With a smile, Jon recalled trying to teach Ghost simple commands in the courtyard. The hustle and bustle of the place made it difficult for the direwolf to focus as a pup but he'd eventually got it. Ghost had been aggressive only when it came to his food and Jon disciplined him by adhering to a strict feeding schedule, making sure that Ghost submitted to him during every feeding, up until the direwolf was big enough to hunt on his own. Robb used to poke fun at Jon by giving Ghost scraps from the table, something that Jon had forbidden anyone to do. He'd shoot Robb a glare but nothing ever deterred him and Ghost took a liking to his brother because of it. "Lucky you didn't get fat," Jon said with a chuckle, nudging Ghost playfully.

Every place in the stronghold was alive with memory for him. Echoes of his past etched in the stone walls and creaky floorboards. It was as if he'd entered a separate world, with a separate Jon living and acting within it. Far removed from the Wall and surrounded by his memories, Jon found it hard to detach himself from his feelings. Tendrils of the bonds he'd forged within Winterfell's walls, creeping back into his heart and latching onto him like hooks, left his oath to the Night's Watch to fade into the misty morning. Outside the sky was preparing to herald in the dawn, a hazy grey already tinged by splashes of pink. Jon watched the clouds float softly in the sky and for a moment he let himself indulge completely in his emotions and pretend that he'd never left; instead of going to deliver a message to Robb he was going to join him, fight for the family's honour and bring his sisters home. Sleep called to him then and he dozed off and in his dream he was reaching out and a warm hand was sliding into his and as he looked up a tender smile and snowflakes were melting in auburn hair.


	3. Time

Jon woke with a start, his hand reflexively fumbling for Longclaw still safely lying in his lap. Ghost raised his head curiously. The room was dry and bitterly cold, the glass window blurred by crystallized snow. Jon slowly uncurled his fingers from Longclaw's hilt and breathed in deeply. He stood up unsteadily, the sudden awakening and lack of sleep fogging his mind. He made to walk over to Bran's bed but the door creaked open and a giant figure shuffled into the room.

"Hodor," Jon said quickly, before the enormous man mistook him for an intruder. "Hodor, it's Jon."

Hodor, mouth hanging slightly open, shifted his weight back and forth on his feet nervously. He glanced from Jon to the bed and back again.

"Snow," Jon continued. "Jon Snow." He waited until Hodor's eyes lighted with recognition and he offered the big man a warm smile. "Tend to the hearth, I'll wake him."

"Hodor," the giant assented and did as he was bid, though he repeatedly glanced back over his large shoulder at Jon.

Summer was sleeping at Bran's side and lifted his eyes as Jon approached. Jon gently laid his hand on Summer's head and rubbed behind his ear as he did with Ghost. The direwolf blinked at him passively. Moving his hand over the soft covers, Jon peeled back a layer and smiled at Bran's sleeping face. His younger brother's face was warm to the touch and he retracted his icy fingers. Squatting down and brushing through Bran's hair instead, Jon whispered to him quietly. "Bran." Behind him, Hodor had kindled the hearth and a pleasant glow bathed the dusty looking room. "Bran," Jon whispered again, nudging him gently.

The little Stark stirred and hid his face further into the covers. A moment later, an arm slithered out into the cold followed by another. Jon stared uncomprehendingly at the outstretched limbs and clumsily moved away when Hodor's bulk pushed him aside.

Hodor took a hold of Bran's arms and pulled him into a upright position, legs dangling off the side of the bed. Bran's sleep swollen eyes opened regretfully and he smiled at Hodor briefly. "Mornin'," he mumbled.

"Hodor."

The giant moved away and revealed Jon who had been completely hidden behind his size. Bran stared for a moment, his eyes blank. Then his brows contracted as he worked out the image standing before him, recognizing the familiar curls of black hair and dark eyes, a wide smile stretched across his face and his eyes crinkled in delight. "Jon!"

Jon's arms were around Bran before he had consciously made the decision to move. He buried his nose in the crook of Bran's neck and inhaled his scent. It seemed to him, a man starved of intimate contact, that Bran smelled like the sweetest honey. The last time someone had touched Jon in a gesture that wasn't meant to hurl him to the ground, he was leaving for the Wall and being embraced by Robb. He could still recall the warmth of Robb's breath ghosting across his neck as he sighed before letting go.

"Jon," Bran said excitedly, not quite believing his eyes, which widened. "Jon, what are you doing here?"

Jon look into Bran's searching eyes and understood his question, surprised at the youth's insight. "I have leave to take a message to Robb," Jon explained.

Bran perked up at the mention of his brother and then his lips set into a firm line. "They don't trust the ravens anymore?"

Jon shook his head, though he thought that it was as much his commander's generosity as his prudence that had sent him on this mission.

"Robb hasn't sent word in weeks," Bran said gravely, worry clearly etched out in the lines of his young face.

Jon was at once proud and saddened by Bran's maturity in such a short time. The light that sparkled in youth sheltered from the hardships of daily life and enjoying unbridled freedom from the cares of the cold world had left his eyes. Jon put his hand briefly to Bran's cheek. "He's being cautious. Robb is not so foolish to let information fall needlessly into enemy hands."

Bran nodded and his face relaxed.

Jon turned away and allowed Hodor to dress Bran, thinking on the little boy's words. Robb must have been sending word back to Winterfell frequently if a few weeks worried them so. Jon wondered if perhaps his brother had been engaged in battles. Though he did not dare think it had gone badly, he nonetheless experienced a sharp pang to his chest at the image of Robb leading an army into battle. He would leave mid-afternoon so as to get a good half day's ride in.

Jon ate ravenously at the breakfast table. His stomach seemed to protest and at once crave more of the warm foods. At the Wall they settled for tasteless porridge and on a good day fresh meat, game killed south of the Wall.

Bran watched him eat curiously and with a slight smile. "Mother's at the front with Robb," he commented casually, picking at the food in his plate with mild interest.

Jon swallowed harshly and took a swig of mead. He had completely forgotten about the Lady Stark. The idea of her face greeting him next to Robb's left a bitter taste in his mouth. He moved to fill his mouth again but paused, the full weight of Bran's words reaching him. "How are you doing?" Jon did away with his consoling expressions, recognizing that Bran had grown.

Bran shrugged. "Maester helps me with my duties."

Jon studied Bran's downcast face and sighed. "Would you like to write Robb a letter?"

Bran's face brightened and he nodded. "Yes, I'd like that."

"Better start right away, I'm going to gather supplies and leave in a few hours."

Before Bran could reply, Rickon bounded into the room and flew into his seat, eyes firmly set on the breakfast laid out before him.

"Good morning," Jon chuckled and reached over to ruffle the little one's head.

Rickon looked up at Jon warily and then in plain confusion, his cheeks colouring some. "Morning," he mumbled as he looked to Bran.

"Jon's taking a message to Robb and to mother so if you want to write them anything, better ask Maester to help you." Bran handed a plate over to his younger brother, who was in the midst of dropping a piece of meat on the ground for Shaggydog.

Jon watched Bran help Rickon with his breakfast, doting on him like a mother would. As Lady Stark would. He looked down at his plate bitterly, cursing whatever fate had led Eddard to his death, Robb to the battlefield and the young Stark's mother to leave them. Sansa and Arya too, captive at King's Landing the last he'd heard. He swallowed down the last of his meal. Jon was beginning to recognize just how dangerous this trip was becoming. The further south he traveled the more his emotional ties strengthened to the Stark's. He feared the end result of his impending meeting with Robb and wondered if the Commander had not made a grievous error in entrusting him with such responsibility. Even as he wondered at the events to come, leaving the table to check on his horse and state of his supplies, Jon knew that the rift caused by his joining the Night's Watch was irreparable. His choice was permanent and no matter what happened, he would rip himself from Robb and the Stark's all over again. Jon stopped in the hallway, reflecting on his last thought, not entirely sure if it brought him relief or nausea.

"Lord Snow," a soft spoken voice called from behind.

Jon turned to face Maester Luwin, who was shuffling over to him slowly. He bowed his head.

"I thought perhaps I had been misinformed," the Maester said, bowing in return. "I had not thought to see you again in this life."

Jon took the elder's hand and pressed it. "I'm to see Robb. I bear a message from the Lord Commander."

Maester Luwin seemed to process the information with severity, his thick eyebrows coming down to cast a shadow over his eyes. "How peculiar that Lord Mormont would wish to share information with our Lord Stark. Robb has been branded traitor to the realm."

Jon tried to make light of the Maester's words. "Perhaps, it is not of such importance as you think."

"Unimportant, that he sends one of his men to personally deliver it? " The old man stared hard at Jon and then pressed his hand in turn, his gaze lifting from its previous intent. "All aside, I've seen to it that you're well stocked for the rest of your journey."

Jon nodded and tried to smile. "Thank you."

"Good luck to you, Jon."

Jon stopped the Maester from leaving. "How are they doing? Bran and Rickon, I mean." His voice was quiet, nearly a whisper, tempered by restrained emotion.

"Surviving," the elder answered, a sudden weariness seeping into his face. His whole figure stooped with a single sigh. "Bran is strong, perhaps even strong enough for the both of them. They -" the Maester paused, unsure of how much to disclose, "they miss their mother."

"I asked them if they'd like to write a letter," Jon quietly said, "to take to her. For her and Robb."

Maester Luwin nodded solemnly. "Yes, of course." He looked up at Jon and his right eyebrow arched, his mouth opening though he was silent. "Robb," he began but fell silent.

Jon's breath caught, the name still rumbling in his ear like a clap of thunder. He locked both hands behind his back to keep himself still. As the lengthy seconds passed he could feel the heat in his face.

The old man's chest rose as he began to speak and then deflated into a soft sigh. He smiled at Jon briefly and put a hand on his shoulder. "Robb will be pleased to see you."

Jon's mouth opened and closed several times as Maester Luwin retraced his steps down the hallway and disappeared through a doorway. He contemplated the Maester's words, trying to illicit some hidden meaning behind them but deciding that the activity was futile, he put it aside and continued on his way to the stables. Winterfell's stables were much better kept than those at Castle Black however, as Jon walked down the row of stables and considered the animals within, he thought that Castle Black had better steeds. Shadow was standing in the last one, the largest pen by far though it could barely contain the horse's bulk; Shadow stamped at the ground as Jon neared.

Jon pat his neck and briefly looked him over. There were two sacks sitting near the pen and he squatted down to inspect the supplies. Though Jon felt the objects he was touching - the animal skin pouch for water, bread and cheese like solid ice - and though he absently knew he was registering the stores, his movements were detached. Jon was thinking then that everything was absurd. The idea, though ill formed in his head, engrossed him and he paused. The fact the he was where he was, going where he was going, that every step closer brought him closer to emotional ruin and that he knew, knew it to his very core that in less than a week it would be as if it were dream seemed to him like a great universal joke. Robb was fighting a war, his father was dead, there was talk of white walkers north of the Wall and the cosmos was laughing. Jon was filled with dread one moment then adrenaline the next and understood none of it. Something, always something, hiding in the recesses of his mind was just within reach but he couldn't make anything of it. Jon shook himself out of his thoughts, reminding himself that there was a reason he had always preferred a sword to a book.

Jon saddled his horse and secured his supplies. The sun had risen well past its noon peak and Jon grimaced at the sky. To stay any longer was unwise. When he saw Bran coming toward him, sitting in a carrier bound with leather on Hodor's back, he thought for a moment that the boy would beg him to stay, but there was only solemnity in his gaze and a envelope in his hand. This was not the same boy that had gleefully scaled the walls of Winterfell or ran through its halls with Summer tight on his heels. Jon silently took the envelope from Bran's fingers and put a hand on his head. No words came to mind that would find meaning past his lips so he smiled at Bran in silence.

"Will you come this way when you return?"

Jon shook his head and dropped his hand down to Bran's cheek. "I'm sorry that we could not see the Wall together."

Bran's eyes glazed over with tears, but he did not cry. "One day we still might."

Jon nodded and squeezed his shoulder. "I look forward to that day," he said, patting Hodor's shoulder briefly and mounting his horse. Ghost left Summer's side and sidled up to Shadow. For a moment, the wind settled and flakes of snow came down like feathers, melting upon impact and softening the air. Jon looked at Bran and then past his shoulder to where Maester Luwin was standing with Rickon. He nodded at them and looked up at the sky, asking the Gods to speed his journey and find Robb safe. Jon did not turn back as he rode out, nor did he feel sad or remorseful. For a moment the thoughts that plagued him were quieted and his mind clear. In three days, before the sun peaked over the horizon, Jon would be with _him_. Spurring Shadow onward, he raced with the wind, the cool prick of snow melting against his cheek and a lightness in his breast.


	4. Pieces

For two days he rode nearly non-stop, stopping only to let Shadow rest. On the second night, it was unusually cold. Jon had thought that the further south he rode the warmer it would be, but he was presently riding amid light flurries and hunkering down into the fur of his coat. The moon had appeared out of the cloudy sky and seemed to chill the air even more with its ghostly sheen. Jon did not feel tired. His body was beginning to ache from riding but otherwise he was willing to press on. As he rode through the dense forest, it became clear to him that in the morning he'd be riding into Robb's camp and standing with him face to face. The thought set his nerves on fire. Jon dreamed up hundreds of situations in his head, only inflaming his body further and unsettling his stomach. He thought that Robb would either be indifferent, hardened by battles and death or just the same as he'd left him. He could handle indifference, it would be good for them both. Neither seemed likely and the uncertainty of what he was to expect drove him into a panic. It seemed all wrong and he out of place. Jon found himself missing the chilly halls and rooms of Castle Black. There he knew what he was and what he was to do.

Sighing and looking up at the sky through the bare trees Jon only thought one thing. _Let him be alive_. The forest around him was naked and the trees of dark wood, thick bark and looming presence. There was no snow, but he could taste winter in every breath. Jon knew the Godswood was far away and perhaps the Gods far off with it, but that did not stop him from sending up a prayer. These trees would whisper his words to the wind and the wind whisk his prayers to the gods. As a boy Jon had little reason to pray; he'd visited the Godswood with Robb on occasion because Robb enjoyed the calm; Jon preferred sparring but he liked the way Robb would close his eyes and the curls of his hair rustle in the wind like the leaves in the trees. If there was anything spiritual about the place it was the way Robb would lean his head back and smile. Jon hoped the gods would listen, if for anything then for the little Stark boy of old who had found peace in their presence.

Jon stared down at his hands, the reins curled tightly around his fingers and blew out a harsh breath. "You know, I wonder what you'd say if you knew what I was thinking about," he mumbled. "I mean, providing you could talk."

The steady thump of Shadow's hooves pounding against the ground answered him and Jon nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I agree. Very stupid indeed," he said solemnly. The cold could numb his fingers and toes but it could not numb his mind. Jon rolled situation after situation in his head concerning his impending meeting until for a moment he convinced himself he'd gone, delivered the letter and was on his way back. Only the yearning deep in his gut reminded him of reality. In this way Jon wrestled throughout the night, trying to figure out what words he should speak or how honestly he should look into Robb's eyes. Eventually, his exhaustive mental exercises lulled him to sleep, falling forward with his cheek against Shadow's mane and his feet jammed into the stirrups to keep him upright. As he wandered into the realm of slumber Jon felt the wind against his cheek, cold but soothing, whispering "soon" and he was calmed.

He awoke a little before dawn, when the dark blue sky still tells of sleepy night through its grey clouds and in the east the sun struggles to break through the veil. Jon sat up with a groan, his aching muscles taut. He bobbed forward and back and was pulled sharply to the left. Blinking away his blurred vision he pulled on the reins and slid off the saddle. "Hey," he whispered and patted Shadow's neck. Squatting down he shushed his steed and felt his way down the animal's front leg. He inspected the animal's hoof and grimaced. A stone was lodged in the side of its hoof, plunging deeper every time Shadow took a step. "Alright, alright," he said quietly, trying to pry the stone loose but only managing to get himself knocked onto the ground. Jon sat back on his elbows and looked up at Shadow, frowning. "What are we to do with that?"

Ghost came around behind him and slid his flank against Jon's leg, pacing back and forth. Jon smiled at him. "We'll be alright," he assured him, reaching out to pat his head but the direwolf swerved away and ran forward. Jon stood and regarded Ghost with curiosity. "What is it?"

Ghost circled Jon and took off through the forest. Jon called after him before going back over to Shadow. "I'm sorry boy, but you're just going to have to hold on." Taking the reins in his hands and walking along side the horse, Jon set off after Ghost on foot. The pace he set was slow, taking care not to hasten with Shadow's injury. He watched the time pass by observing the emerging hues in the sky. As the light pink hues dispersed into a clear blue, Jon came upon a clearing, walled in by the forest. Ghost came up to him, thrashing his tail back and forth with a vigor that Jon hadn't seen since Ghost was a pup.

He knelt down and caught Ghost face in his hands, rubbing his muzzle. "What is it?" He stared into the direwolf's inflamed eyes and released him. Ghost walked into the centre of the clearing, looking back at Jon twice before finally stopping to raise his muzzle into the air. Jon stood up and walked over to him. Ghost's stillness unnerved him and he looked around him, stopping short when a haunting howl split the silence. Jon spun in place and his eyes raced across the forest behind him. The howl curled around him from every side and he at last looked to the horizon where several chutes of smoke were meeting above the trees.

"Ghost," he whispered, his pulse quickening. He stared incredulously, not quite believing his eyes. _Robb. Robb. Robb!_ Jon ran over to Shadow and threw himself into the saddle with a breathless grunt. He leaned forward, taking the reins in his hands and flicked them sharply. "A little more, just a little," he urged as he dug his boots into the stirrups. Shadow sped down the hill and galloped across the clearing, lowering his head as they breached the forest.

Jon raised his elbow, breaking through the branches and protecting his face. Ghost was close at their side, kicking up clumps of dirt as he ran. As Shadow raced through the forest Jon thoughts were focused and unclouded by doubt. Robb was here and so Jon was here. He had been so worried but suddenly it was as if nothing else mattered. He couldn't understand for his ears heard Robb's name in the wind but then he realized it was he who was whispering it into the morning air.

The dense brush began to thin and the ground turned to mud, having been walked upon regularly. Tents became visible through a low lying mist and Jon could see men ambling about the camp. He could smell it all in the air; smoky fires and muddied ground, a dampness to the air from the mass of bodies in the area - the scent of an army. Jon pulled on the reins as he neared, slowing down to a tempered trot. Men with grimy and tired faces looked up at him as he rode by and he nodded at them, their mildly curious eyes staring from mud-caked cheeks, dressed in blood stained clothes. Jon figured some must have guessed from where he came, clad in black from head to toe. Some men rose and stared after him, those that were of Winterfell, recognizing the snow-white direwolf at Jon's side.

"Where do I find Lord Stark?"

The small group of men he had asked largely ignored him, but one man jerked his head eastward. Jon set off to the east, surveying the camp with quiet diligence. From the eerie silence and tattered apparel Jon gathered a battle must have taken place earlier in the week, perhaps even the day before he arrived. His excitement began to wane and his emotions channeled the atmosphere of the camp, making him grim. He rode up to a large tent with two sentries posted in the front. Jon slipped down to the ground and walked to the left one with Ghost at his heels. The man visibly tensed and eyed Jon and his wolf warily.

"State your business."

Jon chose his words carefully and disclosed all but his identity. "I've a message for Lord Stark from the Lord Commander Mormont of Castle Black," he answered, taking the envelope out of his inner breast pocket.

"Wait here," the sentry ordered and went into the tent. He was gone only momentarily and upon coming out nodded at Jon to enter.

Jon tied Shadow's reins to the side of the tent where another horse was tied. He walked past the sentry and then quickly returned. "My horse," he said, remembering himself, "he needs to be attended to. His left hoof needs to be cleaned."

The sentry glanced at Shadow with disinterest and nodded.

Jon stepped toward the man. "I'd like for him to be attended to promptly." He straightened up and turned to the entrance. "Else, Lord Stark will hear of how his brother has been treated."

The sentry's eyes widened and then he scoffed. "Lord Stark's brothers are both younger."

"Not his bastard brother," Jon said, looking at the man defiantly, picturing the disgusting curl of the Lannister Imp's lips commending him.

"Bast-" the man broke off and bowed quickly. "Of course, Lord Snow."

Jon glanced meaningfully at Shadow and then back at the sentry. "Promptly." He motioned for Ghost to sit and stay. Stealing a steadying breath, Jon entered the tent, pulling aside the curtains and taking in the whole room in one sweep. He saw three figures, clad militarily, convened around a map and immediately dropped his head. He had taken such a quick look that he couldn't even be sure of Robb's presence. Regardless, his heart was hammering in his chest and his whole body was flushing hot.

"Right, we'll take this up later."

Jon flinched and his chest heaved painfully. He knew from whose lips that voice sounded. His fingers twitched and gripped the envelope tightly. His breath caught and he stiffly moved aside for the two men exiting the tent, lowering his head even further. He was acutely aware of the weight of Longclaw at his side and the way his fur collar was brushing against the back of his neck. It felt like the men who had left had sucked out all of the air, leaving him to struggle for the smallest breath. He stood, head down and face burning before slowly raising his head. He could feel _his_ presence weighing in the room. Jon closed his eyes and breathed in deeply.

A light wind ruffled the tent and Jon could hear a sigh and the rustling of crisp parchment. His entire week had led up to this moment. Every fear and uncertainty, every memory coming alive, every second a step closer to this tent, to this man. Jon opened his eyes.

Robb was standing bent over the table, curls of auburn hair falling over his eyes, just barely concealing his tight knit brows. Jon took him in with his eyes, drinking in the sight of him like a hungry animal. He breathed him in, open mouthed, torn between saying something and fearing his voice would break and betray him. Robb was oblivious in his concentration and afforded Jon time to compose himself. Jon thought to announce himself but could not, for the familiar curve of Robb's jaw, bearded and clenched immersed him in a study of his face. The downward tilt of Robb's lips stunned him; the bridge of his nose upwards to his downcast eyes rooted Jon in place.

Only when Robb straightened up and began rolling up the maps did Jon react. He struggled forward and fell to one knee. "Lord Stark," he croaked, clearing his throat and bowing his head, "Lord Commander of Castle Black sent me."

"Rise," Robb replied, speaking over his shoulder as he put the rolled parchments away. He turned as the black clothed figure stood and his eyes met Jon's.

Jon tried to speak, but words escaped him and he ended up weakly holding the letter forward, pathetically wide-eyed and with mouth ajar.

Robb rushed forward and smacked the envelope from Jon's hand before taking a hold of his face, eyes searching his wildly. He held Jon tightly between his hands, feeling the warmth of his flesh, needing to feel him so that he might not mistake this moment for a dream.

"Robb," Jon whispered. "Robb, Robb," he said again and again until his words fell away into a strangled groan as he felt Robb's bristly cheek slide against his own and arms wrap around him, tight and unyielding. Jon clutched at him, burying his nose into Robb's hair, shutting his eyes tight against the sting of tears. A week's worth of exhaustion weighed him down so that he sagged against his brother, deliriously content and bone-tired. He pressed his brother closer, sliding his fingers into Robb's hair. In Robb's arms Jon felt like the boy who had ridden out of Winterfell with his heart in his throat, telling himself not to look back, never look back. All the coldness and emptiness of Castle Black, every slight he endured from Sir Alliser and the bitter disappointment of being appointed a steward, everything that chewed him up and spit him back out, hardened him into being a shadow of a man, it all fell away and he realized how much of a boy he remained.

Robb pulled back, just enough to see Jon's face and he smiled at him, bringing their foreheads together. "I told you," he murmured, closing his eyes and shaking his head, "the next time I'd see you you'd be all in black."

Pressing his nose against Robb's, Jon smiled.

"It was always my colour."


	5. Whole

They were standing close, foreheads pressed together, when a man walked into the tent, bringing with him a gust of cold wind. Jon had leaned forward, tilting his head, following Robb's breath to his lips when he felt the sting of winter against his cheek. Jon could feel the man's presence in the room but he could not move, though his sensibilities were urging him to back away. He had gone so long without such intimate touch that to remove himself from it for even a moment, pained him.

Robb shifted himself so that he still had a hand on Jon's shoulder but could face his general straight forward. He smiled easily at the man, with a familiarity and warmth that could only come from having one's life placed in the hands of another. These men with whom he charged into battle were men that he had come to depend on and respect, men who had fought not just beside him but for him with devotion and faith. Moreover, he was warmed by Jon's presence and so his spirits were high and the affection shining in his eyes that he turned upon his general was not entirely meant for him. "Sir Barrister, what is it?"

The soldier, middle-aged and with greying hairs on his head, came forward and bowed his head. His gaze was fixed upon Robb though it was clear that he was making an effort to keep himself from glancing at the strange man dressed in black next to his commander. "My Lord, we are ready for you."

Robb frowned and looked at Jon. "Yes, alright, I'll be right out," he said, dismissing Sir Barrister with a curt nod. Despite the general's curious gaze, he did not offer him any explanation, nor did he intend to announce Jon's presence. He remained silent until the man had left before turning to his brother with an affectionate smile. "I'm sorry, I have to attend to a meeting."

Jon shook his head and stepped away, suddenly feeling embarrassed. "You are the commander of this army, I don't expect you t-to-" he stuttered, hoping Robb would not feel burdened by his presence. "I don't..."

"Jon!" Robb stopped him with a firm squeeze of the shoulder. "Jon, stop," he chuckled and stepped forward. "You are tired and hungry, I'll have you brought to my tent and taken care of."

"You don't have to do that."

Robb ignored him. "I'll come to see you as soon as I can." He shrugged apologetically and turned to leave, but as he shifted his mindset to business he recalled Jon's message and turned back. "The letter?"

"Oh!" Jon searched the floor and knelt by the table, picking up the forgotten letter and handed it to Robb. "I nearly forgot," he admitted nervously.

Robb placed the letter into his breast pocket. "A brief delay," he said and winked, reaching out to pat Jon's cheek, reminiscent of when he would playfully pinch his brother's cheek when they were children. Jon's hopeful eyes arrested him and he leaned forward, placing a chaste kiss on his brother's lips. The brief exchange left him with a light feeling and he eyed Jon's lips oddly. It felt different now as opposed to how it once had. When they were young, wrestling and sparring and mashing their lips together with ferocity everything had been quick and urgent - a need, deep and raw. In this moment he did not feel urgency but overwhelming tenderness and he leaned back in to kiss Jon again. The gentle touch of Jon's lips felt foreign but the flush of warmth in his body familiar and he deepened the kiss, angling his head to the side and pressing hard. Withdrawing and pursing his lips he pulled gently on the fur of Jon's collar. "I must go."

"I know," Jon mumbled, still reeling after the kiss. He licked his lips. "Go."

"I am."

Jon looked into Robb's eyes. "Go, go," he repeated and pushed at Robb weakly before sharply tugging him back and finding his lips once more. He took a hold of his face and pressed against him, kissing him as though to steal his very breath. His body was burning with fire, both from hunger and desperation.

Robb pulled away with a groan and shook his head. "I have to..." he murmured apologetically.

"Go," Jon finished and released him with a breathless chuckle. "A brief delay," he echoed quietly as Robb left. He could still feel the sting of Robb's lips and lifted his fingers to his mouth. As he did so, the armed sentry he had spoken to earlier stepped in.

"Sir," he bowed. "I've been instructed to accompany you to Lord Stark's tent, if you'll follow me."

Robb's tent was only slightly larger than the standard one inhabited by soldiers and it was sparsely furnished. A large bed took up most of the space with a dark wooden table standing adjacent and many boxes and chests, locked and dirty. The main tent where Jon had been was the largest and well-kept as it was the most frequented. The sentry told Jon that lunch would be brought to him and that should he need anything he might ask. Jon dismissed him promptly; he was unnerved by the man attending to him. He had already achieved some form of infamy in the camp, as the walk to Robb's tent had proven. Troops had stared after him long after he'd left their sight and a chatter rose up as soon as he had passed. Jon tried to minimize his presence, but his attire and his direwolf were conspicuous and a rumour had quickly spread throughout the army that a ranger from the Night's Watch had arrived. By the time this rumour had reached the outer edges of the army, it was spoken of as a bad omen and whispers of white walkers fell from bloodied and chapped lips.

Jon spent some time pacing back and forth in the tent, wondering if he should not pay the Lady Stark a visit. Naturally he should have (custom demanded it) but he sat down on Robb's bed instead and lay down. Catelyn would not mind if he put off their meeting he was sure and so he closed his eyes. Jon did not feel as obligated to her as he once had and convinced himself it was rightly so, he was no longer tied to the family. Ghost sat down near him and when a man had come in and placed on the table adjacent the bed a platter of food, he ambled over and stole the tasteless potatoes.

When Jon awoke, candles had been lit in the tent and outside the sun was low on the horizon. Robb was not inside and neither was Ghost. The latter unnerved him because Ghost rarely left his side. He sat up and, noticing the platter of food, ate what had been given to him. After drinking some water and using it to wash his face he exited the tent. The atmosphere in the camp seemed newly invigorated; men were laughing and engaged in conversation and the air had thinned with the oncoming night. Jon walked aimlessly through the camp, ignoring curious eyes and passing numerous groups of men huddled around fires. Between two tents he glimpsed a snow-white shape, circling in and out of view.

Ghost slowly pacing in front of Greywind who was sitting still by a tent's entrance, one that was lit up with the shadows of the figures inside visible through the thin material. Jon chuckled as he neared, petting Ghost when he walked up to him. He held out his hand to Greywind, who lowered his head so that Jon could pet him. The direwolf did this with an air that seemed to imply indifference to Jon but acknowledgment of him as someone he should respect. Just then voices sounded from the tent.

"We'll convene tomorrow, I have matters to attend to presently," Robb said as he walked out. He smiled at Jon and came up to him. "And it seems my matters have come to me," he said in an undertone, glancing behind him. "Come," he said and took Jon by the elbow.

Two armed guards followed them at a distance. They cast an impression upon the army, the Lord Commander walking shoulder to shoulder with a Night's Watchmen flanked by two enormous direwolves. Soldiers bowed their heads as they passed and Jon could see in their faces not only respect but admiration. "They love you," he commented, observing the young and old faces alike.

"They love father," Robb replied solemnly, bestowing a small smile at his soldiers. "They love the North."

Jon pondered these words until they reached Robb's tent. Robb hung back to speak to his guards and followed Jon inside. There were candles lit along the table and on the floor and the bed was newly made up with thick furs. A basin of hot water sat, steaming, on the floor to his right. Jon eyed the bed. "Expecting company?"

Robb came up behind Jon and wrapped his arms around him, cheek pressed into Jon's shoulder. "If you'll have me."

"I have missed you," Jon murmured as he turned around to kiss Robb. "I didn't know just how much until now." His lips trembled as he spoke, afraid that he was revealing too much, not to Robb but to himself. Jon felt an aching, deep in his chest and felt as though he should fight it back so that it remained a dull throb but Robb's proximity and the touch of his fingers on his cheek weakened him. If it were Robb he was to fight, he would surely fail. And was it so wrong? Not to fight for once in his life, not to conjure up every little fear of what could go wrong but simply to let events unfold as they were want.

Robb stepped back and took off his coat, setting it aside and smiled when Jon began to mirror his actions. Had they been the same boys of sixteen Robb would have clawed at Jon's clothing, not caring for the state of the material, tearing and ripping all to get to the flesh underneath. But time and war had tempered him and made him wiser. He could sense Jon's hesitancy and reconciled to Jon's pace, slowly undressing himself until he was standing in just his breeches. Jon's fingers were clumsy and he stopped him, undressing Jon himself. "It's alright."

Jon swallowed harshly and lifted his head so that Robb could unclasp his cloak and unbutton his jacket. Robb leaned forward to kiss his skin as he uncovered more of it and his lips whispered in soothing tones words that Jon could not hear. All the same, it relaxed him and he closed his eyes. Robb's fingers ghosted across his collarbone and then by his hips and Jon raised his arms so that Robb could lift his tunic off. The moment it fell to the floor, Jon opened his eyes and pulled Robb to him, face angled into the crook of his neck, fingers strumming his spinal cord.

Robb chuckled under his breath and kissed the top of Jon's curly head. He nudged him away so that he could tilt his chin up. "Come," he said, pressing a light kiss to Jon's lips before coming to the basin of water. "Let me," he said in a tone which at once managed to sound gentle and enticing.

Jon nodded. The warm cloth felt heavenly upon his skin and he enjoyed the way Robb would run it down and back up slowly, warming the skin that had begun to cool. Jon watched Robb's face as he worked on his chest, eyes shaded by the faint glow of the candles and lips set into a straight line. Reaching a hand out as Robb knelt, he ran his fingers by Robb's ear and into his hair, throat catching when Robb briefly pressed his cheek into the palm of his hand. "Robb," Jon murmured, appealing to him with his eyes.

Robb let the cloth drop into basin and stood up, lifting a hand to Jon's neck and looking into his eyes. He ran his thumb up to Jon's jaw, eyes never leaving his even as Jon knelt to take off his boots and strip the rest of his clothes. Robb watched him with a sort of solemn expression, his face so still that for a moment one might have wondered if Robb's spirit had not left his body. Even as he slid his hand to Jon's lower back and leaned in to kiss him, that same expression was on his face.

Jon breathed shakily into Robb's mouth as he pressed against him, fully exposed and shivering from the cold. He tasted the solemnity in Robb's kiss, noticed the grave dip in his brows and shook his head. "What is it?" His fingers tightened on Robb's hips as though he were afraid otherwise Robb might slip from him.

"The last time we were here," he began, placing his palm against Jon's chest and sliding his hand down to his navel, before twisting his wrist so that he could slide his hand back up his left side "we were in the store-room with bags of wheat against the door and you kept pushing me away. Do you remember why?"

"You kept biting me," he replied, tone soft and hinting of the wonder he was feeling at the reminiscence.

Robb brushed their lips together. "You told me that week that you were going to the Wall, to become a ranger."

"I know," Jon breathed, feeling his throat constrict unexpectedly. Robb's tone was melancholic and he felt an incredible desire to clasp him close and weep.

"I wanted to leave my mark," Robb murmured, "I wanted you to remember."

Jon sharply pulled away and clenched Robb's shoulder, shoving him forward and roughly pressing him down to the bed. "Remember?" he echoed angrily, an anger that arose from a deeply aching heart. "If only I could forget." Jon stared imploringly at Robb, hands still pinning him down by the shoulders. "These memories, they're like wounds. And seeing you, being with you now, I fear that they will never stop bleeding. The oath I took, the words I spoke to renounce this family, this old life, this, this now reminds me how weak I truly am. You speak of wanting me to remember? Branding me with your lips, it would make no difference. I can never forget."

Robb stared at his brother with astounded eyes, impressed by the depth of his emotion and mortified by the offhanded simplicity of his words. He strained forward against the pressure of Jon's hands and slowly sat up, taking Jon's face gently between his hands. "You are not weak, Jon Snow. You are steadfast and strong, you are a Stark." As he felt Jon's grip slacken and his muscles relax, he switched their places and shook his head ruefully. "I believe I was just mourning a time long gone."

Jon managed a smile. "If you're referring to any sort of innocence you may have lost, I'll have you know you never had it to begin with."

"You stole it from me, you and your debaucheries. My poor, poor innocence." Robb's face lighted up with the turn in conversation. It was not necessarily that they forgot what words were uttered moments before but that both seemed to silently come to understand that it was useless to spend the little time they had stewing in unpleasant thoughts, especially when they might have a respite in each other's arms.

Jon wordlessly slipped his fingers down to the hem of Robb's breeches and pulled on them, sliding underneath Robb, nudging his hips up so that he could remove the last of his clothing.

Robb chuckled breathlessly and fell back, finding himself lying underneath Jon again, reaching out to touch his curls, tugging on the strands and settling back with his legs open wide as Jon bent and opened his mouth to him. Robb sucked in a sharp breath and then groaned, lifting his hips up and pressing Jon's head down with his hand selfishly. It had been so long and he needed this so badly.

Jon squeezed his eyes shut and fought against his reflex to heave and pull away. He had barely enough time to focus himself and recall what Robb enjoyed before Robb's fingers dug into his temples and his body convulsed from his built up release. Jon scrunched his nose and swallowed, lifting his head to observe Robb; flushed pink and breathing through his mouth. He crawled forward and leaned down to kiss his neck, sliding his tongue up to his jaw before kissing him again. Robb remained still for several moments, oblivious to Jon's lips against his throat and if not for the faint smile on his lips Jon would have thought that his brother had fallen asleep.

Weakly, as if his release had amounted to such a strain on his body that he could barely move, Robb forced himself to maneuver Jon into lying down. Jon's hand stopped him with a supplicating squeeze on his arm and he looked up at Jon's face curiously. "What is it?"

Flushing hotly, Jon was unable to bring himself to say the words. He was neither embarrassed nor shy, but his throat clenched so tightly that tears welled in his eyes and he shook his head, shocked at his own reaction. He pressed Robb's arm again, hoping he understood what he was unable to voice, mostly hoping that Robb would just understand everything.

Robb stilled and stared at Jon with a mild frown and then all at once his features relaxed into a softness intensified by the warm glow of the candles. With a tender smile, Robb placed his hand over Jon's briefly, pressing his fingers to reassure him. He then ran his fingers over Jon's thighs until the troubled expression faded and a childlike innocence echoed in Jon's eyes. He slid his palm along Jon's inner thigh and curled his fingers around his cock, barely applying pressure. Carefully, thinking on his nearly immediate release in Jon's mouth, he pumped his fist up and down, watching Jon's face closely. When he saw those dark eyes roll back and full lashes flutter to a close and when he felt Jon's body begin to rise from the bed, he pressed hard with his thumb against the head of his cock. "Not yet," he murmured, tone soft in response to Jon's grimace. He let off stroking him and leaned over Jon's body, pressing his lips to Jon's mouth. He kissed him deeply, allowing Jon to steal a breath before following it with his tongue.

Jon appreciated the pace Robb had set, but with their bodies so closely pressed together and with an insatiable heat burning through him the gentle touch of Robb's lips seemed inharmonious and so, with a ferocity bolstered by his arousal and the pure need to take in as much of Robb as possible, he dug his nails into Robb's back and bucked against him. Their kiss, which had until then been like a pleasant greeting in which one gently presses the hand offered him, had transformed into a frenzied clash of teeth and tongues, neither willing to relent to the other. Jon held Robb by his hips, jerking up to meet his heated skin and groaned into his mouth.

Robb shoved Jon back and grabbed onto his thighs, bending them forward and forcing Jon to lift his backside to him. He towered over him and let Jon's legs hang over his shoulders, biceps flexed against Jon's thighs. Spitting into the palm of his hand he thickly coated Jon's opening with two fingers, hardly able to restrain himself from thrusting into him. He readied Jon with his fingers, pressing against his sensitive bud with his index finger before slipping in two. Jon's face contorted with pain but Robb saw him through it, gentle and patient. He worked his fingers in and out until he could feel Jon's muscles relax. When Jon's lips parted in pleasure and not in pain, Robb's arousal took precedent in his mind. Retracting his hand, he took a hold of his cock and guided himself in, burying himself to the hilt despite the resistant tightness which met him. Covering Jon's body with his own, he pulled out and pushed back in, repeating the movement several times until Jon's iron-like grip on his back eased.

All around them, oblivious as they were, the daily life of the army was continuing. Men casually walked by the tent, the scene inside unimaginable to them. Cooking fires were kindled and maintained, men chatted about their lives at home and within Lord Stark's tent, a pair of legs were wrapping themselves around Robb's waist and sweet sounds dripped from swollen lips. Everywhere but there life carried on, unaware of the curious phenomenon taking place. A phenomenon that came of two souls, so entwined with the other that time ceased to exert its influence upon them. The sun set and night rolled in like a soft wave, heralding the close of another day but between those two souls, nothing outside of entangled limbs and the brush of skin against skin mattered. So absorbed were they in each other that they could only see and understand the other and nothing outside of that existed; it was not possible, for what else could be needed?

Jon held Robb tightly, a continuous string of groans escaping his lips as Robb thrust into him. The wooden bed creaked under the strain of their lovemaking and the bristly furs on the bed scratched Jon's back, leaving thin red marks on his shoulder blades. Robb's chest was slick with sweat and his breath hot against Jon's neck. Jon locked his ankles together, rocking back and forth as Robb thrust harder, breath hitching as they rode higher and higher, pressure building to a point of physical pain. Robb's hand slid up and down by his neck, nails dragging against his sensitive skin and leaving scorching trails behind. Their actions, noticeably human by the way lips would pause to kiss or noses take time to breathe in the other, was lost to pure instinct; to animal like grunts and cries, nails digging into each other's skin as if to rip through it, just to get closer, closer and closer to the edge until Jon clasped Robb's hips between his legs and Robb's hand closed around his neck. The choked cries that split the thick air, cut off at the height of their ecstasy were unmistakable, like the howl of the wolf, knowing it must howl as the moon appears and needing no other reason to do so, bound by instinct alone.

And so, likewise, did they, colliding into one another, seeking a primitive release, selfish for their own pleasure yet needing the other for it and, simply, needing the other, climbed to a height driven by raw desire reach the peak and were blinded. Sheer exhaustion crashed down as Robb and Jon fell limp, skin still warm and tingling but sweat beginning to cool and trickle like an icy stream down their bodies. Neither could utter a sound, much less compose words, so in silence, Robb pulled out of Jon and lay down at his side, holding an arm out so that Jon could curl into him. Robb tucked his hand under Jon's chin and lifted his head so that he could kiss him. A contented sigh and small smile answered him and exhaustion turned to peaceful sleep.


	6. With Grace

The sun rose slowly, as if nature itself understood that its ascension brought the promise of an end. Yet, it could not be slow enough and the light permeated the frosty morning with forlorn serenity. The snowflakes in the air reflected the light of the sun like crystals, like tears, twinkling, falling and disappearing. Ghost and Greywind were lying by the tent, sidled up to one another, not for warmth, but because their meeting had instilled in Ghost sensations of puppy-hood, of a time when he had run along-side his litter, of family. It was quiet and only a few hundred men were awake, most of them having awoken to relieve themselves or out of hunger.

Robb was awake, gently running his fingers through Jon's curls, twisting his fingers in the dark locks. Jon was not asleep, this he knew from the way his brother's lips would lightly press against his chest and from his being a soldier; both of them were accustomed to waking early, before the birds themselves sang their morning songs. Still, Jon had not opened his eyes, content to press his cheek against Robb's chest.

"At the Wall, the sun is a welcome sight," Jon murmured. "Now, I would give anything for an eternal night."

Robb caressed Jon's cheek. "You may yet come to regret those words."

Peeking at Robb with one eye, Jon frowned.

"I read the letter," Robb replied, dropping his hand from Jon's cheek before turning to lie on his back. "The realm has little mind to pay attention to such things," he said bitterly.

Jon propped himself up on his elbow, staring at Robb pointedly until the other heaved a heavy sigh. He did not ask of the letter's contents, knowing that whatever news had made Robb frown, the two envelopes lying unnoticed on his desk would make him smile.

"In any case, I believe its contents matter more to you than to me." He mirrored Jon and placed his chin in the palm of his hand. Jon's eyes were mildly swollen with sleep and his lips subconsciously pursed. He reached out to brush a stray strand of hair behind Jon's ear. "You're quite handsome."

Jon scoffed, startled by the remark. "What?"

Robb smiled and leaned in to kiss the lips that in the depths of night had seldom left his own. "You're handsome."

For some time afterward neither of them spoke. Robb ran his fingers by Jon's mouth, down his neck and over his bare shoulder, following the invisible trail he left with his eyes. Jon's hand was beneath the furs, gently draped across Robb's hip.

It was all they could do; speak through touch, bodies pressed, skin against skin, eyes speaking for their lips. Words were superfluous, inadequate to express the complex range of emotions filtering through their gazes. Both felt a love so deep and strong, surpassing silly romanticized notions in stories, transcending that which was acceptable and good and holy, something that neither could truly comprehend. They were brothers, blood, and yet more, something beyond even that which burned beneath the touch of the other's hand, hidden in the lines of Jon's lips or in the creases cornering Robb's eyes when he smiled. Words, words were not enough and there simply were none that could define that which was between them. Had it a definition, it would have a limit and then would be not at all as it were supposed to be.

By noon, Jon was securing supplies to his saddle. With Shadow nursed, no longer limping so strongly on his leg, it was time.

Robb accompanied him as far as the open plain which Jon had ridden through on his way to the camp. The trees stood in a ring around it, sprinkled by fresh snow. Robb's guards hung back at his command and they walked with together until they were out of earshot. They walked slowly, quietly, snow crunching underneath boot and hoof. Ghost and Greywind ambled along behind them but their steps were noiseless. Neither of them said a word, though both walked consumed in thought.

When Jon was ready, he stopped. He could not look at Robb so he stared ahead at the pine trees standing guard before him. He thought that when he came close enough they would simply lift up their branches, like a girl pulling up her skirts, and he would walk through the opening, one which would never open again, one through which none could follow. Robb wouldn't follow.

He breathed deeply of the air, exhaling and clouding his vision with his own smoky breath. With a heavy heart and throat swollen with the effort of keeping back whatever it was that was pushing on his rib-cage, he turned to his brother. Despite the pressure on his chest his body washed over with a graceful calm when he looked at Robb. He had spent the week riding trying to make peace with this. He had spent the week saying goodbye. Touching Robb's cheek with his gloved fingers, he smiled.

Ghost circled them and on his way around Robb, slid his flank against the back of his legs. Robb's eyes dropped to the direwolf and softened. Not until Jon's fingers slid to his chin did he look up and when he did he could see reflected in Jon's eyes everything that was in his own heart. Perhaps he had fancied it, projected his own thoughts to suit the emotion in Jon's face, regardless, it resolved something deep within his chest. He reached up to take Jon's hand and pressed it tightly before embracing him. Robb breathed in Jon's scent and tucked his nose against the curls of Jon's hair. Whether or not he spoke, he could not tell, but he had felt his lips move.

When they parted, it was for the last time.

Jon mounted his horse and flicked the reigns. He did not turn as Shadow moved up the slope to the pines, nor when branches tapped at his shoulders, pushing him along whispering "good. This is how it must be." Jon would remember Robb by soft candlelight glow and by crystal flakes of snow melting in his auburn hair. He would not remember Robb as that which he had left behind, there was no looking back. Jon smiled and looked up through the bare trees, letting the pressure that had built up in his chest escape through his mouth and nose and eyes. His past would forever remain a warm memory, this he now accepted. Winterfell did not, as he had once thought, have to stand like a looming fortress of doubt in his mind. He did not have to lock himself away in its halls, in its secret rooms and the memories they held, he could roam free. Jon's conscience eased as he cast off the constraints he bound himself with. Robb's touch had been love and he would forever revel in its afterglow.

Jon let go.


End file.
